Dropping By
by ProcrastinatingPalindrome
Summary: When America is injured while Christmas shopping, Russia decides to pay him a friendly visit. This involves sneaking in through the second story window on America's house with the broken lock.


Russia was a little annoyed to learn about America's injury through the grapevine. This was the kind of thing he wanted to hear from America personally, perhaps from a hasty text message so full of indecipherable shorthand that Russia would have to seek out Estonia's help just to understand half of it. He was miffed that instead, after America failed to show up at the last meeting and didn't answer his phone either, all he got was England's explanation: "Stop making such a fuss, the prat just shattered his ankle on Friday. He'll be good as new in a few days. And quit glaring at me, I had nothing to do with it!"

That still left a few important questions unanswered (such as, how did America get hurt in the first place, and would he think it was sweet and romantic if Russia extracted swift and brutal vengeance against whoever was to blame for his injury?) The only logical solution was to go visit America himself. America had given him his house key a few months back when they started 'officially' dating, along with a big long speech about how 'with great power comes great responsibility.' America also said that if Russia used that key for nefarious purposes, he would cut off Russia's nookie privileges. And after Russia got home and looked up 'nookie' in that nice slang dictionary America had so helpfully given him, he decided to take that threat seriously.

So, to be on the safe side, he didn't use the key. He used the second story window with the broken lock. It had long been his favorite way to break into America's house, way back when he first started doing so during the Cold War. It was very curious that after so many decades, America had never noticed the broken lock and had it fixed. He like to imagine that America already knew about it and left it that way, just for Russia.

Even with all his years of experience, he had yet to find a way to climb up the nearby ancient cherry tree and crawl through that window that didn't involve a great deal of awkward shimmying around. To make matters worse, America had already strung up Christmas lights in the branches, creating a glowing multicolored spiderweb for Russia to navigate through. It was best that he didn't have an audience for that. America would be left to imagine that Russia had just glided through the window like some kind of very large and graceful bird. Possibly an albatross. Was an albatross graceful? This question warranted some research, but this was neither the time nor place for that.

He tiptoed quietly out into the hallway. Where was America? His car was in the driveway, so he had to be home. It was unlikely he could drive in his current state anyway. The living room, perhaps. America was very fond of collapsing on the overstuffed coach there to play video games or stare at the TV. He could have converted it into a sick bay while he was nursing a broken ankle.

Russia made his way slowly down the stairs, careful to keep silent, and paused at the entry to the living room. Just over the back of the couch he could make out a familiar tuft of corn blonde hair.

Well, that answered the question of where America was. Now to investigate more closely. Russia dropped down to his hands and knees without a sound, carefully creeping closer to his target...until his hand came down heavily on a squeaky floor board. Russia winced. How had he forgotten that one? He had snuck into America's house dozens of times in the past, leaving no excuse for such a careless blunder.

Right on cue, America's head popped up from behind the couch like a bespectacled groundhog. For a long time, he just stared. Russia waved.

"What the flying fuck are you doing down there?" America asked, more curious than angry.

"Visiting," Russia said promptly. "I came over for a visit. Is something wrong with that? You told me I could come over whenever I wanted when you gave me your house key."

"Yeah, I just kind of assumed that you would use the door from now on instead of sneaking in from god-knows-where like a creeper. So what was it? Second story window with the broken lock?"

He _did_ leave the lock broken on purpose! This was more romantic than a bouquet of sunflowers. Oh dear, Russia could feel a blush coming on...

"You don't have to stay there on the floor, y'know. There's a little room on the couch. Just don't bump my foot, got it?"

That was all the invitation Russia needed. He barely resisted the temptation to hop right over the back of the couch, as America was injured and probably wouldn't appreciate being pounced on in his present condition. Never let it be said that Russia was inconsiderate.

His foot did indeed look sorry, once Russia had circled around the couch enough to see it, propped up sadly on a little stack of pillows. Even through the layers of white bandages it was obviously swollen several times its normal size.

"How did this happen?" he asked, giving the foot a little poke. The poke was perhaps not the best idea, as it caused America to make a yelping sound that generally only came from puppies.

"Dude! What the fuck!" he howled. "That hurts like a bitch, you asshole!"

"Ah, my apologies. I did not realize it was that serious."

"I'm laid up on the couch and missed yesterday's meeting. What did you think this was, a stubbed toe?"

"I would not know," Russia said stiffly, flopping down on the unoccupied part of the couch with a little more force than necessary. "You did not see fit to tell me you were hurt in the first place. But you did tell England. How interesting."

America's nose wrinkled. "Are you jealous 'cause I didn't tell you about this first?"

"I am annoyed that you did not tell me at all," Russia corrected. He wasn't pouting. His lip was just sticking out a little from...seriousness. Not pouting. Nyet.

"I actually had a real good reason for not telling you, believe it or not."

"Enlighten me." Fine, maybe he was pouting just a tiny bit now.

America heaved an exasperated sigh and wiggled into a more comfortable position. "Okay, this was supposed to be a secret, but since you're gonna be a baby about it, I'll tell you. I was out Christmas shopping for you. Okay? And I found this really great thing for you, but it was the last one on the shelf, and I got attacked by a little old lady who wanted it too."

Russia just stared at that confession.

"Don't give me that look! She hit me with her walker! And I fell all wrong, and dude, you should have heard the cracking sound my ankle made. Nasty. Makes a guy awfully glad to not be human, or that would take forever and a day to heal. Anyway, that's what happened. Senior citizens, man. Turn your back on 'em and they go all ninja on your ass."

"Ah, I see. Little old ladies can indeed be formidable."

"That better not be sarcasm I'm hearing."

"Not at all! There are frightening old ladies at my home too. They usually just yell and scold me, though. I rarely provoke physical violence from them."

"Be careful, big guy. They strike when you least expect them."

"I will keep this in mind," Russia assured him. A smile was starting to sneak in around the edges. It was difficult to stay annoyed when America had been trying to do something nice. "What was it you were trying to get for me?"

"Nope, not telling. Secret. But it's something you'd really like-"

"Top secret documents from NASA?"

"No!"

"Are you sure? Maybe in exchange, I could sneak a few goodies from my own space program under your Christmas tree..."

"...Tempting. But still no. I don't want to open that can of worms. I'm trying to keep my secret stuff more secret these days."

"Ah, since your trouble with Wikileaks?"

America's entire body drooped. "You had to bring that up, didn't you?"

"It is not so bad!" Russia said hastily, patting America's knee. "Everyone will forget about it before too long."

"You're not mad about any of it?"

"Why would I be angry? You have said much worse things about me to my face. And I liked the part when someone compared Putin to Batman. Your people can be very funny!"

"Um." America sank a little further into the couch cushions. "Actually, I wrote that one. Sorry."

"I might have known!" Russia chuckled. "You see, not so bad. Funny for me and embarrassing for you, but it will go away before too long. Do not be depressed about this, please."

"Yeah..." America sighed, reclining back into the couch. "Okay, enough talk about that shit. Pass me the remote, would you? I need some TV to clear all the gloomy out of my brain."

Russia dug through the pillows and blankets until he found the object in question and passed it over. America looked a little better with his new distraction, and flipped through the channels until he found what he wanted.

"Oh, _It's a Wonderful Life_!" he cheered, sitting up as far as he could without jostling his propped up foot. "I'm beyond hope if this can't get me in the right Christmas spirit. Pass me that box of tissues too."

"What for?"

"Come on, big guy! The end of this movie is very touching! Brings a tear to your eye, don't it?"

"...A man getting lots of money moves you to tears? That is...very capitalist of you."

"Ugh, you're _heartless_."

"That is unfair."

"No, it's spot on. You never cry at sad movies and plays and stuff."

"I cried the first time I saw _Eugene Onegin_ on stage." When America continued to look at him blankly, he added, "The opera."

"Oh, _opera_. That shit doesn't count. Nothing but a bunch of fat ladies in horned helmets."

"You have never seen an opera, have you?"

"No, but I saw an episode of Looney Tunes about it. _Kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit_~"

"That is _Ride of the Valkyries_."

"And I call it, Elmer Fudd Chases Bugs. In D minor."

Russia flicked at the bandaged foot, feeling just the tiniest bit of satisfaction when America dissolved into a chorus of 'fuck-fuck-fuck-Jesus-H-Christ-that-fucking-hurt.'

"What'd you even come over for?" America grumbled, once he had recovered from the latest assault on his injury. "Were you just bored without someone to pick on?"

Russia slumped. Why did he always give the wrong impression? Now America thought he was a bully... "Do you want me to go home?" he said to his shoes.

"No way! Who else is gonna help me find the TV remote while I'm stuck on the couch? That was a joke, dummy," he added when Russia wilted a little more. "I'm just wondering what prompted this break-in mission of yours. It wasn't all about me getting a little banged up, was it?"

There was a loose string on Russia's scarf. His fingers sought it out on their own accord, tugging it restlessly. "I was worried. That is all. I heard you were hurt, and you did not answer your phone. That is the normal response for a...ah, from a lover, da?" He pulled a little harder on the string. He hadn't used the 'l' word before when talking about their relationship. You always had to be careful with words. They could do tricky things if you weren't paying attention. Maybe America wouldn't like such a label on their relationship. It was half impossible to define what they were anyway...

"Being worried is a normal reaction," America allowed at last. "Breaking in through my window, not so much."

"I was _very_ worried," Russia insisted. He felt that he had won a small victory when America finally smiled at that.

"Fine, fine. But next time, use the front door. I bet you didn't even see my Christmas decorations 'cause you snuck in around the side."

"Your Christmas decorations could be seen from space, I assure you."

"_...That sounds so fucking cool_."

"Da, da. Very fucking cool," Russia echoed, curling up on the couch to watch the rest of the movie. Maybe his reaction really had been abnormal. Ordinary people in ordinary relationships didn't crawl in through windows with broken locks to check up on their boyfriends. But then, America was abnormal too. Everything about them and their relationship was abnormal. And as he nestled down in the pillows and listened to America shout at the TV screen ('Don't jump, George! You've got a wife and kids!') he thought maybe that wasn't such a terrible thing to be.


End file.
